


Snakeskin Around Her Waist

by shipthedame



Series: The Bird-Footed Woman [1]
Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: AU Exposition, Drabble, In Which Women Are Not Made to Be Devoured, Introspection, Short, Solo Lilith, mentions of nudity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-29 23:48:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17213114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shipthedame/pseuds/shipthedame
Summary: Lilith reflects on her new body, her new mission, and what awaits her on the other side.Introduction to The Bird-Footed Woman, my working CAOS AU.





	Snakeskin Around Her Waist

Lilith has not been human for a long, long time. 

This is not, she realizes now, because she _dislikes_ the human body. In fact there are many things about it that she’s quite pleased with, now that she’s had time to strip down and take a good long look in the mirror -- the velvety, sensitive skin, the delicate folds, the swell of the hip. 

She is nothing if not a vain creature, and decorating Mary Wardwell’s body has been a delightful surprise.

Still, there are things that take some more getting used to -- there are so many other tiny living beings in this vessel that the first night she found herself unable to think or act, unable to do anything but shake with overstimulation until finally she vomited for nearly thirty minutes. It wasn’t even a beautiful, desecrating burst of acid light -- just a sad, painful dribble of bile and blood. 

So there’s that. 

But Lilith has seen worse, has been worse. She remembers how to soothe herself with milk-and-peppermint baths, how to cure her hair with olive oil and egg. The body is something she can get used to again, something she can learn to live in.

And… well, it’s not as if she doesn’t have _any_ emotions in her usual form. There are several: joie de vivre, revelry, fear, covetousness -- all to be relished in their measure and controlled. But these have been splitting and reforming in her chest ever since she surfaced onto this world and it… _worries_ her. This is a new one, worry: a pinching feeling she associates with her beloved Dark Lord and, most of all, with the girl. 

Lilith blinks. She’s still standing in front of the mirror, still posing with one hip pushed out. Still naked. With a sigh she turns and slinks to the bed, curls up on top of the covers. Despite her nudity she doesn’t feel the cold, hasn’t since she left behind that first body of hers so long ago. She had loved that body, fiercely, gloriously, exulting in the rich deep brown of her skin, the strength of her limbs, the bright sparks of thought illuminating her brain. Now she can’t imagine being so attached to something so... fleeting.

Yet, still, there is something in her now that sends out tendrils of want and affection she cannot sever. She still hasn’t been able to dispose of the sewing scissors that killed Mary Wardwell, for some reason. And whenever she steps into the Spellman house there’s a small voice inside her that pipes up in exultation, in excitement. A stupid, dangerous thing.

But Lilith is no innocent virgin, Lilith is no wide-eyed child. She knows how to identify these feelings, how to process and bind them. For example, these are her feelings when she prays to her Master: adoration, desire, fear. 

Here are her feelings regarding those feelings: annoyance, bitterness, fear. 

(Lilith is the patron mother of vanity, and the properly vain are masters of self-awareness.)

And she can do other ones: there is _anxiety_ in the morning mirror, _boredom_ on the blackboard, _suspicion_ in the eyes of her familiar. _Pride_ and _excitement_ in the sheen of the girl’s innocent blonde hair, _envy_ and _distaste_. _Curiosity_ towards the elder Spellman sister, with her piercing eye, her sharp power. 

Great sorrow in the darkness of the bedroom ceiling.

So. Lilith rolls over, takes stock. She is the Mother of Demons, she is decay and revelry, she is the fleeting moment of transcendence in the orgasm. She is _here_ and she is powerful and she must repeat this to herself until she remembers that it is true.

And if she’s exhausted, well, she’s very old. She has been used. It is no wonder.

 _My darling, it will all be over soon,_ she whispers into the nothingness, soothing herself like the mother she is but never had. The sheets are warm under her body with the heat of her and she stretches out, languishing. 

_You have seen all the signs, you have read all the omens. Everything is in place for you to leave your burden to the girl._

She smiles.

_With Sabrina Spellman underneath you, you will have no need for the Dark Lord. You will rid yourself of His shackles like the snake sheds its skin. You will burn, oh, so brightly._

_And you will swallow Him whole._

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! If you did, or if you'd like to leave a prompt, come say hi to me on tumblr @shipthedame -- I worship at the altar of vanity and appreciate the attention ;)


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